Now I am sure. I was before with Christine and Julie and Frances, but now smirky Pam is in my room with you, wearing my stuff on my bed. I run home and burst into the house. I don’t even check my phone, which, naturally, I left on the kitchen table because I can’t be in two places at one time, can I? I run upstairs, past my absent children’s bedrooms, and kick our bedroom door open.

I keep my wedding dress wrapped in tissue paper in a box on the top of my wardrobe. I keep it there because I wanted to pass it on to Laura when she marries. Now you’ve spoiled all that. I can’t pass it down to my only daughter because your mistress has worn it to pose for photographs. Then you’ve had sex with her. In our fucking bed.

I pull down the box and it’s crumpled on top of the tissue paper. The zip is still down and I can’t believe I never checked it before. But why would I? What married woman would ever imagine that particular scenario? I pull at the side seams where the zip meets the white pearls. It’s a beautiful dress and it’s a shame. It tears easily and I rip savagely at the rest of the dress, seed pearls flying everywhere, tap, tap, tapping on the laminated floor and bouncing to a halt onto the wool carpet.

The tiara is beautiful. I had it specially made when I still believed that our marriage would last. I supervised the placement of every Swarovski crystal and every pearl. Paula came with me and chose her bridesmaid tiara at the same time. I pull that out of its box as well. We made a pact to save them for our daughters’ weddings. All that has fucking changed now. No daughter of mine will ever wear either of these witches’ crowns. I twist them into each other, the crystals popping onto the floor and spinning through the tiny pearls. My tiara snaps into bits. Paula’s is a little bit more durable and it takes a few hard stamps to shatter it into pieces.

I’m breathless and sweating and I turn to the bed. I can’t sleep in there any more. Not where you slept with all your whores. I can’t. It was difficult before, but this is the last straw. I rip off the sheets and the duvet and run down to the kitchen. I pull the largest carving knife out of the cutlery drawer but it’s not big enough. So I locate the ‘kitchen utensil’ section of my Amazon stash and open boxes until I find a knife set. I take the biggest, sharpest knife and run upstairs.